The Merry Men of Downton
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Crack fic. After a night out with Sybil, Isobel has a very, very strange dream; Downton meets Robin Hood. All kinds of characters and pairings included: Isobel/Clarkson, Carson/Hughes, M/M.
1. Chapter 1

**This has the potential to make no sense at all; and will probably be more comprehensible if you have seen the BBC series _Robin Hood _from a few years back, particularly the episode _The Treasure of the Nation_. Vague general knowledge of the story of Robin Hood should be enough to suffice though, if you know Downton. This crazy idea arose from the genius of Fourteen Hundred Hours thinking that Penelope Wilton had been in that episode (sadly, she wasn't really). Please give it a go.**

**The Merry Men of Downton**

"Hello, Cousin Isobel."

Standing waiting in the entrance hall in her hat and coat- Carson, strangely, had not been there to take them, but she was glad, the man deserved a night off once in a while- Isobel turned to see Sybil similarly dressed, descending the stairs hurriedly and carrying a brown paper bag.

"Hello, my dear. I take it you're ready to go?" she asked.

"Yes, yes," Sybil replied happily, and the two of them made their way back across the hall and out into the darkening evening, "I'm so glad you said you would come with me. Mama said she was too tired and Mary and Edith have started to take a pretty dim view of this sort of thing. They think we're too grown up and it's always a dreadful bore for them if I ask them to go with me."

"Nonsense, my dear. I'd hate to miss this."

They set off down the drive towards the gate. Every year, the children at the village school would put on a play at the end of the second last half term of the school calender. This year, they were putting on _Robin Hood_ and Isobel- having been offered the excuse to go by Sybil- had said she was only too keen. She loved to go to plays of any sort and, living in Downton as opposed to Manchester, such chances were noticeably thin on the ground without spending hours in the motorcar.

"Most of the servants like to go," Sybil informed her, " We usually let them have the evening off. That's where Carson is this evening. Most of the village normally turns up and we all have a wonderful time, or at least I think we do."

"Then, no doubt I shall as well," Isobel replied, "Sybil?" she enquired a second later, looking across curiously, "What's in the bag?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. Mrs Patmore sent us some sandwiches. Will you have the ham or the cheese?"

"The cheese, I think."

"Are you sure about that?" Sybil asked her, her tone light but seeming to speak in perfect earnest, "Cheese gives you dreadful nightmares, you know."

"Oh, what nonsense!" Isobel exclaimed, "That's just foolish superstition! I'll have you know that there's not a shred of medical evidence to support that hypothesis. Indigestion, perhaps, but I'm not particularly vulnerable to it, thank heavens. Anyway," she continued, "You do realise that almost every night your family serves cheese after dinner?"

"Yes, but I never eat it," Sybil assured her, "Because I don't want to have nightmares."

"Remarkable girl!" Isobel declared, her eyebrows raised, then exclaimed again, "This is absolutely idiotic! Who told you such a thing, and how old were you at the time?"

"Granny," Sybil admitted, "And I can't really remember when exactly."

"So I'd suppose you were pretty small?" Isobel concluded, "There you are, then. You ask Dr. Clarkson the next time you see him, and I'm sure he'll tell you."

"Fine," Sybil replied levelly, "I'll ask him when we get there."

Isobel looked puzzled for a second.

"He's always there!" Sybil told her.

"Why? Do these plays usually prove hazardous, and require a doctor's presence?"

"No! Dr. Clarkson is a governor of the school. If you go to the prize giving ceremony in September you'll see him sitting up there with the platform party in his university robes. Though, I dare say he won't have told you about it. Granny thinks he considers himself to be a bit above such menial work. He certainly despises committees."

"Well, why is he a school governor, then?" Isobel asked incredulously.

"Because he's good at it," Sybil told her, " And I don't think Granny's right," her tone was particularly pointed here, "He likes to feel as if he's doing some good. And I've heard Papa say that he's the only reason the governors get anything done at all. He just despises the bureaucratic elements, or so he says."

"Oh, him and his peculiar tastes and opinions! He can't _ever_ entirely like anything. That man drives me to distraction, sometimes!" Isobel declared, with particular vehemence this time, "I don't mind telling you, Sybil, that I on occasions, and only on occasions, mind you, I find him absolutely maddening."

There was a short pause.

"Why?" asked Sybil.

"I don't know!" Isobel admitted rather reluctantly, "It's the way he always has an immediate answer to things, though not always the right one, I could care to add. But he's always so self-assured!"

"I thought you two got on well?" Sybil asked, "You always seem to. Granny says that you're thick as thieves most of the time."

"Well, your grandmother says that cheese gives you nightmares, so I wouldn't listen to her if I were you," Isobel told her, "I don't know. I can barely explain it. Most of the time I get along with him quite well, more than well on occasions. Oh, but at others he drives me absolutely mad!"

Sybil looked very much as if she had decided that it would be best not to press the subject. Isobel sighed. She did admit that she had quite a tendency to get carried away with this matter in particular, and she hadn't yet discovered why. They had been walking for a little while now and was getting darker, but the streetlights of the village were drawing ever closer; so close now that they could distinguish the glow of individual lights on the stone walls of the houses and the way they lit up the colourful strings of bunting strung across the streets as if the fair was here. As they entered the village properly they came across other little groups of people, all walking in the same direction as them.

"Look, Cousin Isobel, there's Mr Carson," Sybil pointed along the street, "I told you he was going to be here. He used to bring me every year, and Mary and Edith, until they got sick of it and I was big enough to come down on my own."

Isobel strained her eyes to look along the street. Either it was a trick of the dim light or the butler, despite not having his young entourage with him, was not alone.

"Isn't that Mrs Hughes walking with him?" she asked Sybil in a low voice.

Sybil squinted as well. Eventually, she turned back to her cousin.

"Well, that's never happened before!" she remarked gleefully, "There must be love about in the air this evening."

"Oh, good heavens!" Isobel remarked dryly, "You haven't ordered the motorcar to take us back, have you?"

"I'll ignore the implications of that remark," Sybil replied smartly, "And yes, I have. Well," she continued defensively, "It will be properly dark by then, and I'd hate for you to have to make your way home in the dark and cold, _at your time of life_," she added pointedly at the end.

"I live in the village!" Isobel reminded her even more smartly, "And I will ignore the implications made about my age!"

"Good evening ladies."

They both turned as they heard a familiar voice behind them. Dr. Clarkson had apparently just stepped out of the door of his house at a time that coincided with them passing by. Isobel, now in something of a bad mood and- the implications about her age not having helped at all and having been just reminded about how cross he could make her at times- was not best pleased to see him at the moment. Especially not looking so sure of himself like that. Or so oddly, irritatingly handsome.

"Good evening, Dr. Clarkson," she replied rather sharply, "I suppose you'll want to want to walk us down to the school house?"

To give him his due, he did seem to look rather less sure of himself once he heard her tone of voice.

"If that would be acceptable to you, Mrs Crawley," he replied, with an audible degree of uncertainty.

Fortunately, Sybil chose that moment to step in and save them, or so Isobel thought.

"That would be very good of you, Dr. Clarkson," she told him graciously, "I'm sure Cousin Isobel especially would be very glad of it."

Isobel opened her mouth to protest, but it then occurred to her that Dr. Clarkson would also hear whatever she said to Sybil. So she tried to make it look as if her sudden movement had been her smiling at him. He did not look altogether convinced.

"Come along then, Mrs Crawley," he offered her his arm almost tentatively.

She took it begrudgingly, not minding if she accepted it a little clumsily. Or, indeed, if she accidentally knocked his arm out of its socket. She turned her head, and when she caught Sybil smiling at her rather mischievously she knew what she'd very much like to say to her: no, love most certainly wasn't in the air this evening.

…**...**

"I do admit that they're usually better than that," Sybil conceded, "Not much, but usually all of the actors manage to stay on two feet."

"Well, it wasn't too bad," Isobel remarked, rather clutching at straws as they waited by the school wall for Branson to come with the motorcar, "It could have gone a lot worse; they could have _all _fallen over as they climbed onto the stage, poor things, instead of just Little John and Friar Tuck."

"Yes, that's true," Sybil agreed, "I think I saw Little John after it was over having his head bandaged by Dr. Clarkson."

There was a pause.

"Well, don't look at me like that!" Isobel told her, "That's his job, for heaven's sake! He's supposed to bandage people up, you can't expect me to be impressed by that, and it won't make him rise any in my good graces, that's for sure."

"Still," Sybil reminded her, "It _is _good of him to do it; he doesn't have to, he's not supposed to be on duty in the evenings."

"Doctors are never off duty," Isobel informed her shortly, "They must be vigilant at all times. Even in, on might say especially in, the evenings!"

Sybil did not quite know what to make of that remark, and decided it was best not to ask.

"You seemed to find him enough of an agreeable companion," she pointed out instead.

"He sat down beside me, what could I do?" Isobel protested.

"Still, you didn't seem to have any complaints."

"Well, he behaved himself."

Sybil couldn't help but snort a little. The way that her cousin said it very much inferred that such a thing was something of a rarity.

"Oh, I'm starving," Isobel announced before Sybil could say anything else, "I'm not waiting for Branson to get here, let's eat our sandwiches."

"What, on the street?"

"Oh, Sybil, live a little, to something that your grandmother would call "middle-class". Besides, there's no one here."

"You're not worried about the nightmares?" Sybil asked jokingly, as Isobel perched herself with dignity on the edge of the wall and took out her cheese sandwiches, "Even after the fiasco of an entertainment you've just witnessed?"

"I've had my share of nightmares this evening," Isobel pointed out, "I shan't have room for any more."

"I'm not sure it works like that," Sybil told her.

"And, as I said before, I'm not convinced that your theory works at all."

…**...**

"Hello, mother, did you have a pleasant evening? I'm just on my way up to bed."

Isobel smiled to meet her son in the hallway as she took off her hat and coat.

"Oh, it was dreadful," she told him, "Well, no, it wasn't _that_ bad. But I've had Sybil pestering me over all kinds of ridiculous things- my goodness me that girl can talk nonsense sometimes! The play was something of a shambles, but the poor dears tried ever so hard."

"Did Dr. Clarkson make an appearance?" Matthew asked.

"Not on stage, no."

"No, I meant in a spectating capacity."

"Oh, yes he did. Was I the only one who didn't know he was going to be there?" she asked, "Do you know, Matthew, I've had just about enough of that man for one evening, and that was before I even met him face to face."

"What has he done?"

"Oh, nothing spectacularly out of the ordinary," she sighed, "Just being his usual merry self, I supposed you could call it. I think I had best call it a night too. Goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight, mother."

…**...**_**...**_

_Everything was very dark, and very hazy. Isobel was not quite sure where she was, she didn't recognise anything. She felt extraordinarily disorientated, her head felt very heavy and her neck and collarbone were very cold. She wondered if she hadn't eaten enough, but those sandwiches had been quite substantial, and she had had some tea during the interval._

_Thankfully, things came back into focus suddenly, and she realised why she was so disorientated- she was lying flat out on her front on a stone floor; that certainly wasn't the floor of her own room. _

_It was daylight. She must have spent the night here. Quickly, she scrambled up, thinking that if this was Sybil's idea of an amusing practical joke she might just have to kill her. Suddenly, she felt a pair of arms from behind her encircling her tightly, lifting her off her feet and pulling her rapid backwards. Unable to help herself, she yelped aloud in surprise, but that was not all. In the exact place where she had been standing only moments before, and arrow flew threw the air, embedding itself in a tapestry on the wall. Instead of struggling against the arms that still held her, she was now profoundly grateful and ceased trying to elbow the man- she was sure it was a man- in the ribs: he had just saved her life, intentionally or otherwise. _

_In her surprise, she hadn't realised that there were other figure in the room, but in fact it was quite full. _

"_Keep them covered, Will. You can put her down now, John. Are you alright, your Majesty?" _

"_Matthew!" Barely noticing that the arms loosened their grip on her, she didn't know if she was relieved to see a familiar face or to be worried that her son was with her in what was apparently a very dangerous place, "What on earth are you doing here? In fact, more to the point, what am I doing here? What has happened?"_

"_You fainted, your Majesty. Then the sheriff's men arrived."_

"_Sheriff? Do talk sense, my dear boy! What is going on?" _

"_We were told to find you, ma'am," Matthew told her, "We think you can help us."_

"_But, Matthew, you know you can-..."_

"_Forgive me, your Majesty, but why do you keep calling me Matthew?"_

_That was another point she needed to address._

"_And why do you keep calling me "your Majesty"?" she asked, incredulously, "And why are you bowing before me like that. Get up, lad, for heaven's sakes!"_

_He looked very confused indeed, as he rose to stand. He was still the same height at least._

"_Because you're the queen, ma'am."_

"_I'm-... ? Wha-..." she but her hand to her inordinately heavy head. It contacted with something metal. By this point, Isobel's mind was reeling. She drew herself up to her full height, trying to appear at least a fraction dignified, "Which queen am I?" she asked, trying to sound imperious enough to not appear ridiculous._

"_Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, ma'am."_

"_Wha-...?"_

"_Robin Hood!" a loud, and strangely familiar voice bellowed, "You can't stay in there forever! Bring out the Queen and no one need get hurt."_

"_Robin? What-...!"_

_But Matthew had gone, crossing the room to the spyhole in the door, apparently answering to the call. He was dressed differently too. Bewildered, she followed him._

"_Stay back, your Majesty!" he warned her, but it was too late, she had moved to quickly to heed him. _

_She could see through the spyhole herself; and to her astonishment she saw Cousin Robert. But he was different, somehow. He looked much more rugged, rougher round the edges, and somehow more vicious. There was something of a ruthless glint that she had never seen before in her life._

_He had seen her too._

"_Queen Eleanor," he murmured, with something like relish. _

_Isobel thought it best not to show that she was frightened. She reminded herself that she was the Queen., or at least these lunatics thought she was._

"_Who is this man?" she asked Matthew._

_Cousin Robert barked with savage laughter._

"_Don't you recognise the Sheriff of Nottingham when you see him?" he asked, "Been hiding in France for too long, my Lady."_

_Isobel was about to protest that she hadn't been to France for years, when Matthew spoke instead._

"_The Queen is staying with us," he told 'the sheriff', "Don't worry, ma'am, you'll go with them over all of our dead bodies."_

"_Well, thank you. I think."_

"_As you will, Robin Hood. On your head be it when Locksley Village burns to the ground!" _

_There were several crashes, like the falling of something very loud outside the door, then silence._

"_What a vile man he's become," Isobel remarked to no one in particular, "And I hardly noticed at all. I must warn Cora when next I see her, or else console her."_

_Suddenly, a panicked voice issued from beside the door._

"_They've blocked the way out! We're trapped!"_

"_Sybil! What's happened to you?"_

_There stood her young cousin wearing trousers and an odd short tunic- much similar to Matthew- her hair all cut short. What was more, she carried a long bow on her shoulders and held a fistful of arrows. She too looked confused to be addressed by her name, but she bowed as well, approaching Isobel cautiously._

"_My name is Djac, your Majesty. And what happened to me is the same as what happened to the rest of us. We came here to find you, but we were followed by the Sheriff's men because they want to capture you; and now they've trapped us all," she looked towards Matthew, "They've blocked the door, Robin, I think it's a boulder. What are you going to do? We have to get out, if they're heading straight for Locksley."_

_Matthew looked grave._

"_Can you see to it, John?" he asked, looking just behind Isobel's shoulder._

_Isobel turned, curious to see the face of the man who had saved her life, and who had had such a strong grip. She nearly fell over again. Standing there, towering over her and dressed in a similar fashion to the rest of them, was Dr. Clarkson. Like Cousin Robert, he too was looking rather more rugged around the edges, but not unpleasantly so._

_She was so surprised that, even when he had nodded gruffly and headed for the door, she stood stock still and bewildered._

**I firmly congratulate you if you made it to the end, and even more so if you are not confused! Please review if you have the time, although I may live to regret this!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Any shameless flirting that seems out of character for Isobel is my attempt to reconcile her character with that of Eleanor of Aquitaine, as seen in the said series of _Robin Hood_. Those of you who have seen it will know _exactly _what I mean. **

They were running like fury across open countryside. The sun was shining brightly, and she had to squint to be able to make out the uneven ground. The last thing she needed was to fall flat on her face. To take her mind off the agony the action of running seemed to be stirring up in every nerve of her body, she tried to recollect the last time she'd run like this. She found she couldn't; in fact she was almost certain that before now she'd _never_ charged across open fields, bedecked in very heavy royal costume and regalia and accompanied by an entourage of armed bandits- all of whom were calling her "your Majesty". However, lost in her thoughts her pace automatically slowed and she started to lag behind. Matthew had stopped up ahead and turned around, a couple of his followers slowing too.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but we really must hurry," he called, "Until we're out of open ground, at least. The forest will offer us some cover."

Why?- she wondered- Why must we hurry? She had half a mind to tell him that he should try doing this when he was her age and see if he felt like hurrying then. But she did not have the breath to say anything, and so she struggled on, seeing the trees ahead gradually getting closer. However, when at last they reached the dark shade of the wood, they did not slow down as promised. They did not progress as quickly, but they veered from side to side dodging trees and roots, so that they were having to move just as quickly. Most of the group seemed to be quite used to this sort of activity and moved with remarkable grace and speed, except Dr. Clarkson- whose body, Isobel noted, looked quite considerably bulkier than it usually did- and a funny man in hat, which his ears stuck out of; whom everybody seemed to call "Much" but who Isobel thought bore a rather startling resemblance to Mr Branson. Along with those two, Isobel continued to muddle on at the back of the group.

Up ahead, she saw Sybil to come to an abrupt halt- clinging onto a thin tree to prevent herself skidding down the slope- and wheel around. Her face bore a distinct expression of fear.

"The Sheriff's men are approaching!" she hissed, "Everybody get down!"

Isobel barely had time to wonder where exactly she was going to "get down" or how she was going to do it without killing herself, before she found that those problems had been taken care of for her. For the second time, she found a pair of arms around her, pinning her to the forest floor with some remarkable force. They seemed to be concealed, flat on the ground, behind a very large log covered in ivy. When she dared to look, she wasn't surprised to see whose face was above hers.

Though he looked so very much like Dr. Clarkson, she somehow suspected that she wouldn't get very much of a response out of him if she addressed him as such.

"John, wha-...?"

"Shh!" he hissed furiously, pressing a hand over her mouth, taking none too much care to me gentle, "Forgive me, your Majesty, but are you trying to get us all killed?"

Taking his warning into account, she lowered her tones considerably.

"You do seem to like grabbing ahold of me, don't you?" she asked in a whisper, partly through indignation, partly through something much more akin to wonderment than she was willing to admit, "That's twice now in the past hour."

"Well, you do seem to like wandering straight into the path of danger, wouldn't you say, your Majesty?" he asked rather testily.

She got the feeling that he wasn't best pleased to find himself lying on the leafy ground next to her either. She exhaled deeply.

"Do we have to do this _every_ time the Sheriff's men come past us, or is today some sort of special occasion?"

She got the feeling he was not entirely impressed by her frivolity, but then she found the situation so ridiculous that there was little else she could think of doing.

"It's highly recommended," he told her, "In terms of staying alive, at any rate."

She wasn't too sure about that, it could be said that it was rather agreeable in terms of more than just surviving. But for the surprise and the residual pain of having just run across goodness knew how many fields, she might have otherwise quite enjoyed been pinned to the forest floor by a ruggedly handsome bear of a man.

Ahead of them she heard Matthew's voice.

"Can anyone see anything?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes," came Sybil's voice, "But I don't think they can see us. They've gone past."

Cautiously, one by one, they all raised their heads out of their hiding places. Peering over the log, her head in line with John's, Isobel was able to see a group of men below, clad ominously in black; some on horse back, others on foot. They were far enough away now for them to be able to talk quietly without fear of being overheard.

"Was Allan with them?" she heard somebody ask. A boy emerged from behind on of the trees. He had a rather familiar look about his face but she could not quite place it.

"Yes, he was, Will, I saw him," Sybil replied. That was it! Isobel realised, the boy had the exact look of William, the footman from the big house.

An unspoken but highly noticeable air of hostility seemed to grow among them at the mention of this Allan.

"Who's Allan?" she whispered to John, not wishing to seem ignorant.

"You see that man up there on the horse?" John pointed to the back of one of the riders among the Sheriff's men. Isobel nodded. "That's Allan A'Dayle. He used to be one of us, but now he's gone over to the Sheriff's men. Likes the life of privilege a bit too much. Look out, he's looking this way! Don't let him see you, your Majesty!"

"It's alright," Isobel replied, "That tree's in the way."

Though it was certainly likely, she wasn't quite sure if she was absolutely assured of protection. She didn't care though, she was far more set on catching another glimpse at Allan's face; because she could have sworn he was... yes, he was! Thomas, the footman! Well, she supposed that made some sense at least.

"Filthy swine!" she muttered under her breath so that only John could hear, "He had no business to to abandon you all like that."

Such was her indignation that she didn't catch the small sideways smile that John momentarily threw in her direction.

"Right, men," she heard Matthew's voice again, "The way seems to have cleared. Let's get moving again."

Something within Isobel seemed to groan resoundingly at that prospect. She had only just got her breath back from the last lot of running! Still, she got up and continued as best she could.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of running, she found she had to come to a halt altogether.

"I'm... sorry," she called, her hands on her knees, struggling furiously for breath, seeing that again Matthew had stopped to wait for her, "Can't... go... on. No... air..."

"John," she heard Matthew's voice, "Carry the Queen."

"What?" John sounded horrified.

"You heard. Pick her up and get a move on, we haven't got all day."

She got the feeling that any favour she'd won with John for cursing Allan A'Dayle had just been lost. To say that he didn't look very happy was an understatement.

"Robin-..."

"Don't argue," Matthew told him, "You are carrying the Queen and that is final. Now, come on."

While John was still staring after Matthew in stunned fury, Isobel- her breathing somewhat recovered- decided that she had better speed the process up. She walked up to where John stood and tugged gently on his sleeve.

"Come on," she told him, "I'm sure it's not every day you have the privilege of having someone of royal lineage on your shoulder." It would be entirely inappropriate, she was sure, at that moment to wink at him, but she was sorely tempted, just to see the look on his face.

He heaved a heavy sigh, still looking very unhappy about this arrangement. It seemed that he was going to need a little more cajoling.

"Come on, Big Bear," she told him softly, placing her hand on his very strudy shoulder, "Just lift me up."

Looking even more unhappy- and slightly mortified- he finally consented to do so- but none too gently.

"Steady on!" she told him, as they took their first rather bumbling steps.

"I'm not going to drop you," he told her rather irritably.

"Well, just make sure you don't," she replied, in equal irritation, "Because it doesn't feel like it!"

"Hold on tight, then," he commanded, his pace increasing slightly as they began to descend the slope in the forest floor.

She found herself halfway to being upside down, her arms latched hopelessly around his middle, his arm wrapped- with quite a degree of familiarity around her hips. How her crown did not fall off as they lurched about was quite beyond her comprehension.

Finally they stopped. It seemed that they had reached where ever it was that they had been heading because John put her down and they walked down the final slope to where the rest of the men sat together on a cluster of rocks, some resting on fallen branches.

"What took you two so long?" the funny little man called Much called out as they approached, a rather impish grin across his face.

"I'd like to see how you'd get on if you had a great big woman over your shoulder," John told him, scowling and knocking his hat so it fell down over his eyes.

Isobel was torn between indignation at that remark and being amused by Much as he attempted to straighten out his hat. He really was very like Mr Branson.

"Remember that's the Queen you're talking about, John," Sybil told him, smiling herself.

John seemed not to care very much, and threw himself down on a stone beside Matthew. Isobel did admit that he looked rather tired, but after his comment she was not particularly stirred to be sympathetic towards him.

"Will, I think you should give the Queen your seat," Much called, "You can't sit there while the Queen is left standing, it isn't right."

"The same could be said of you, young man," she told him, "Come on, up you get."

There was a rumble of laughter among the men as Isobel tapped Much on the back, and made him get up and took up his place on the nice flat rock instead.

"We should have some food shortly, your Majesty," Matthew told her, "Once Djac obliges by getting a move on and preparing it."

Sybil looked affronted.

"You only make me get the food because I'm the only woman," she told him, not moving, "I'm sure her Majesty will agree that I shouldn't have to."

Isobel grinned a little. Matthew was watching her rather expectantly.

"Quite right," she told Sybil, who looked very satisfied and shut her eyes, putting her feet up on the nearest branch.

She saw Matthew roll his eyes a little at Sybil.

"You'd better see to it, Will," he told the young man who looked like William.

"Did you say that we were the only two women here?" she asked Sybil.

Sybil nodded.

"Then who's that girl up there?"

She pointed up to the ledge on top of the cave in the face of the hill where they were all gathered. The ledge was mostly covered in thick foliage but Isobel had seen the girl lurking there for a while. It had occurred to her that if they really were hiding out she ought to warn one of them that someone they were unaware of them was watching them.

Seeing the girl too, Matthew got up without saying anything, and walked away, making to ascend the hill up to where the girl was perched. Isobel cast her eye around the group of men for an explanation.

"That's Marian," Much told her, smiling to himself.

"Ah, I see."

That rather made sense she thought, watching as Matthew ascended to meet the girl. He looked very right with her, as if she had always seen them together. Well, of course he did, Isobel realised, given that the girl was the very image of Cousin Mary.

She turned her head away, wondering vaguely if there was any member of her family who wasn't going to turn up here.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	3. Chapter 3

To her dismay, there had been more running, but once again they had stopped for breath and to drink some water. She was not as tired as before- after all she now had the considerable advantage of John giving her a lift, as it were- but still she felt perhaps even more shaken up by the experience.

"So, where are we now, then?" she asked Sybil, who was nearest to her.

"Somewhere near Locksley Village, my Lady," she replied.

"And what, may I ask, are we doing near Locksley?" she enquired. For a long time she had wondered what the point of all of this strenuous exercise was, as it would appear that they had shaken off the Sheriff and his men, but everyone else seemed so sure of what they were doing she hadn't like to ask, "Not that I'm not enjoying all of this... activity, mind you."

She dared to cast a quick sideways glance at John, you abruptly coughed and looked the other way. She couldn't help but grin at the forest floor for a second. Matthew sat down beside her.

"We can rest here, your Majesty," he told her, "You understand we can't seek more comfort for you in the village because..."

"Because if we do and you're caught you'll be strung up by your ankles," she finished for him gravely, "Yes, I had rather grasped the point of your all being outlaws by now. You needn't worry about me being comfortable," she assured him, "It's as good a reason as any not to go somewhere."

"Well, thank you, your Majesty. Ideally it would be best to go through the village- it's quicker- but obviously that carries a risk too," he continued, "But we can stop near Locksley, and it's useful for us to do that. It lets us know if there's any news, anything we need to know about. That's where Will is now. And it's not too far out of our way."

"Yes," Isobel replied, "Where _are _we going?"

"On the other side of Nottingham there's a deputation of the King's guard waiting to get you safely back across to Aquitaine. We're looking after you until then."

"That's very kind of you," she replied, her mind not quite taking in the fact that she was about to be taken across to _France_, "But how can you be sure that they'll be there?"

"Because not all of these men are mine," he indicated to some of the men assembled with them, "They belong to the King's guard as well. They were sent over to help us find you."

"My goodness," she marvelled, "To go to all of this trouble the King must certainly have wanted to find me a great deal!"

"Of course he does," Matthew told her, "You're his mother."

Trying to remember this- apparently- wasn't her own son, no matter how much he looked like him, Isobel willed herself not to cry at this proclamation. This was no time for crying, she was the Queen. Stirring herself, she turned back to the men to avoid having to look at Matthew.

"So which of you come from the King's guard?" she enquired conversationally.

A few men raised their hands, looking rather shy to be addressed by the Queen.

"And this is their leader," Matthew indicated to a tall, well-built man on his left that, apart from being well-built, was the very image of Sir Anthony Strallan, "My old friend: Legrand."

"Your Majesty," he lent forwards with confidence, kneeling before her, taking her hand and kissing it. Over his shoulder she caught a glimpse of John's face; she noted with some pleasure that he looked rather disgruntled, "An honour to be of service."

Anthony Strallan was a lot more attractive outdoors, she noticed. The effect of the natural light really was extraordinary. Perhaps it was because he was taller.

Her musings were cut short by Will running into the clearing where they were all gathered. He looked like he was struggling for breath. It was clear that there was something wrong. Matthew got to his feet.

"What is it?" he asked, "Will, what's happened?"

Between deep breaths, the only word he could get out was, "Marian."

"Get him some water!" Matthew called, "Sit down, Will. Now, what has Marian done?"

"She's been caught by Gisbourne. They're taking her as a prisoner to back to Nottingham, but she's still in Locksley Village. They know that she's the Night Watchman, that she's the one who's been stealing from the rich and informing on Gisbourne to us."

Matthew looked utterly thunder-struck.

"They'll execute her for sure," Sybil declared, panic flashing across her face, "Robin, they'll never let her live."

Isobel thought she saw tears threatening to form in Matthew's eyes.

"The fool," he whispered, almost to himself, "I told her, I told her not to-..."

"Unless we get there first," Isobel interjected.

Everyone looked at her in astonishment.

"Am I speaking a different language?" she asked, "As far as I can see, they can't execute her if we get there first."

"We can't," Matthew told her, "It's out of the question."

"Why?" she asked, "You said yourself it's quicker to go that way."

"Our first duty is to protect you," he told her, his voice sounding as if it were costing him a great deal of effort to say this, "We cannot do so well enough if we take risks such as this one. Marian," he seemed to struggle a little, "Marian chose to do this. She knew the consequences, and now she's been caught-..."

"But you love the girl," she told him simply, standing face to face with him, the rest of the men surrounding them both in a circle, "So you must go to her, and fight for her."

There was a rather stunned silence for a moment. It was Legrand who spoke first.

"So," he told them, "To Locksley, then."

…**...**

Their position on the hill looking down on Locksley offered them a panoramic view of the village. A sizeable boulder lay on the ground, and they crouched down behind it, peering down on the settlement.

"It looks like they're turning it into a military garrison," Much observed.

Matthew ignored him. Isobel knew that look on his face, and it spelled trouble.

"Can anyone see Marian?" she asked.

"They'll be keeping her indoors," Matthew told her in a low voice, "That is if they haven't taken her to Nottingham already."

"I don't think they have, Robin," Sybil called, to Isobel's right, "I can see, yes, it is him. There's Gisbourne there, look!"

They all squinted in the direction that she was pointing. A man with an undeniably handsome but still unpleasant face was striding between the thatched houses. He was undeniably a man of power, and if the way the peasants he passed quickly made themselves scarce was anything to go by, he was greatly feared by all. He had the precise look, Isobel thought, of Sir Richard Carlisle. Really, this was too absurd!

"If they're still there that gives us time," Will told them, "If they're still here that means..."

"We have time to see the Queen off safely before we rescue her," Matthew finished for him.

There seemed to be quite general content at this plan, but Isobel was unconvinced.

"Are you sure?" she asked him, "Any danger I am in is far less imminent than hers."

"The spirit of the nation, its morale relies on your safety, your Majesty," he told her.

"Your happiness depends on hers," she reminded him.

"Yes, ma'am, and I'm trying not to think of it that way at the moment," he told her, a wry smile passing across his lips.

She smiled too.

"You're a good man, Robin Hood," she told him proudly, "A truly good man. Right, then. Where to next?"

…**...**

In pairs, they began to creep down the slope and approach the village. Isobel went in the last pair but one with Legrand.

"Take your crown off," he told her, in low voice "Here, I'll hold it. And get under my cloak. Pretend to be ill and cold. They're mainly peasants, but we can't risk it that one of them could recognise you. If we're stopped say you're my mother. And if Gisbourne shows up, I'll pick you up and run like hell. Though," he added with a distinct grin, "I bet you'd rather John did that."

"At the moment I'm not too bothered who does it," Isobel admitted, "Just so long as we get through here alive."

"We will, your Majesty. One way or another," he assured her. The sound of his heart hammering against his ribs rather undid his attempts to calm her.

They were quiet as they entered the village, hoping not to draw attention to themselves.

"Just keep walking," he told her, "In a straight line."

Isobel felt like every eye was upon her. She was rather beginning to regret having suggested this course of action.

"It's alright," he told her, as if having read her thoughts, "We're alright. And just think of the time we'll have saved once we're out at the other side. No one's spotted us. "

She wasn't so sure about that. A sturdy peasant woman with a mop of brown hair and eyes that she recognised from afternoon tea with Cora. In her state of panic she couldn't for the life of her remember the maid's name.

They had progressed to the top part of the street. Outside one of the slightly larger cottages sat a woman with a little girl on her lap. Now, Isobel knew where she knew that face from.

"That's Mrs Ramsay," Legrand whispered to her, "Her husband's a farm blacksmith. They have eight children. Robin says they're having a difficult time of it at the moment because her husband's refused to favour Gisbourne for work. Insists on treating him like any other customer."

"Dangerous," Isobel managed to whisper.

"You can say that again," Legrand remarked, "Very brave man."

At the moment he spoke, the man himself emerged from his cottage to stand beside his wife and daughter. Isobel could not help smiling. In whatever strange, warped world they she had found herself in, she was glad that in this one the counterparts of Carson and Mrs Hughes were married.

"That's it," Legrand told her, "Just keep walking. We've nearly made it."

They saw John and Much standing at the village gate.

"There, you can have her back now. I'll wait for Djac and Robin," Legrand told John as he handed Isobel over to him. John scowled, putting his arm rather protectively around Isobel and led her a little further on. Turning her her head, Isobel saw Legrand grinning after them, and she could not help but smile back.

**Please review if you have the time. **

**And next chapter... a FIGHT.**


	4. Chapter 4

By now it was almost evening, and the sun, gradually, was beginning to sink behind the tops of the trees.

"Not far now, ma'am," Legrand told her as they walked through the gate and began to cross the small meadow that led back into the forest, "Because we cut through the village we can afford to travel fairly slowly. If we go too quickly we'll be there before the convoy."

"Thank heavens," she remarked wryly to John who walked at her other side, "At least we don't have to run."

"Quite, your Majesty," he agreed, looking as genuinely relieved as she was.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back as they continued walking.

"I must say, your Majesty," Much chimed in as he jogged along beside them to catch up, "It's nice to have a woman around. Apart from Djac, of course, but she doesn't count. I'm almost sorry that we have to see you leave."

She grinned at her shoes. Even when he was supposed to be someone else, she realised, Mr Branson was always walking straight into it as far as she was concerned.

"_Almost _sorry, Much?" she asked him, raising an eyebrow, "Don't I quite merit fully fledged regret?"

His ear, still protruding from under his hat, glowed slightly.

"No, no," he tried to correct himself, "That's not what I meant at all, your Majesty, I-..."

"Isn't _the Queen_ a good enough companion for you?" Will asked, bashing him playfully over the head with his bow.

"No!" Much insisted, "Well, I'd far rather have her with us than the Sheriff's mother, wouldn't you?"

Isobel hooted with laughter at this unintentionally meagre concession towards a complimentary remark.

"I should say so," Legrand agreed, "She was an old witch even before I went to the Holy Land and that was a good few years ago. It seemed as if she was a hundred years old even then. Is she still alive?" he asked, his tone indicating a definite degree of some doubt.

"Oh, very much so, by all accounts," John replied, "And very much herself."

"What's she like?" Isobel asked him. She was anxious to talk to him properly; he hadn't spoken to her for more than a sentence at a time since he'd seen her being led through Locksley Village under Legrand's cloak with his arms wrapped around her. As he looked in the other direction she cast an observant glimpse at his face. He did look astonishingly like Richard, right down to the moustache, in spite of his increased height and bulk. Isobel really couldn't make up her mind whether she liked him best like this or not. In fact she was so rapt in her contemplation of the matter that she almost missed his answer.

"Rather like a dragon," he told her, "Vicious, predatory, scaly. She stays in the castle mainly-..."

"In the dungeons, some say," Much chipped in.

"Only rears her head to come out in public when there's an execution on, and even then it's only when it's going to be gruesome. And it's said that she has never, in all the time she's been seen in public, been known to smile."

For some reason Isobel thought of Cousin Violet.

"Yes, I know someone like that too," she remarked lightly.

Matthew was walking ahead with Sybil.

"Come on, you lot," he called back to them, cupping his hands around his mouth to shout,"I said we could take our time, but you're taking it to the extreme!"

Isobel sighed.

"Is he always this much of a tyrant?" she asked John, as they picked their feet up a little more quickly.

"He's Robin Hood," he reminded her, "He's a legend. He can afford to be as tyrannical as he likes with us," he gave her a bit a wary smile, "He's young, and he means well."

"Yes, I've no doubt," Isobel replied, "I only wish he would try to mean well in some other way than making me run everywhere!"

…**...**

They stuck more closely together once they were inside the forest. Only Robin and Legrand knew the way to the place where they would meet the convoy and they all had to keep up to avoid getting lost.

"The convoy will take you back to Aquitaine," Matthew told her, "Passage has been secured for you on a ship that's leaving from Dover without going into the port. You'll be picked up in a fishing boat and taken out to meet the ship. An inconvenience, your Majesty, but it means you'll be safe from anyone who might inform Prince John. You won't be recaptured, I can as good as promise you that."

They had reached a clearing in the trees.

"Thank you," she told him, "I owe you a great deal, Robin-"

"I should say you do," came a loud, drawling, horribly familiar voice from up ahead. It was Cousin Robert again, and it looked like he had a lot of soldiers with him. Apart from the small entourage surrounding him, they began to appear on all sides, surrounding her and Robin's men, "Your life, safe passage through Locksley Village. Not quite safe enough though; you were spotted, my Lady. And , incidentally, is the ambush we've arranged to merit that."

O'Brien! That was the name of Cora's maid, who had looked so like the woman from the village who had given her such a strange look. Isobel groaned inwardly as her stomach clenched in fear, but she was absolutely determined not to show it.

"So much is obvious," she replied, her voice sounding deceptively eloquent, "And you do not scare me, Sheriff," she told him.

"I ought to," he informed her, "As seen as your men are so greatly outnumbered by mine."

There was no argument to that, it was so obviously true. She steeled herself, trying to think of a sharp reply but the facts of the matter only pressed ever more heavily on her mind and she could not think. Cousin Robert laughed at her silence.

"Guards," he instructed, "Capture the Queen, kill the rest."

As the guards advanced down the banks of the clearing towards them, there was flurry of activity as Robin and Legrand's men sprang into action. Sybil, Matthew, Legrand, Will and Much all drew their swords forming a circle around her.

"John!" Matthew called, "MOVE!"

Nodding swiftly, as if he had had the manoeuvre planned all the while, John ducked out of the way of a passing arrow, throwing his arm around Isobel's shoulders, forcing her to duck as well, and making her charge out of the centre of the clearing. It was clear that he was trying to lead her to safety, but on their way away from what was swiftly becoming the main body of a fight they encountered three soldiers advancing menacingly upon them. With one motion with the large wooden staff he carried, John knocked one of them out cold; hooking it around the neck of the other and dragging him forcefully out of the way. Unfortunately, that left one soldier running straight at Isobel.

He stretched his arms out to grab her, and Isobel knew she had to act herself, John was to far away to reach her before the soldier did, she couldn't rely on him to protect her. She swung her left fist around as if making to punch the man beneath his visor, and he easy arrested her wrist in between his thumb and forefinger.

He grinned at her, revealing horrid teeth.

"You'll have to do better than that, your Majesty," he told her, leering.

"Oh, I will," she informed him, "When I use my good hand."

In his confusion she promptly walloped him around the jaw with her free right hand, sending his helmet flying. He was heavily disorientated by the blow, and taking advantage of this, Isobel kneed him sharply between the legs, knocking him easily to the floor.

By that time, John had reached her.

"Come on!" he told her, grabbing her by the hand and running with her further out of the clearing.

They stopped behind a large boulder.

"Your Majesty, get behind there," he instructed her, indicating to the stone, "Get down and stay down."

Turning on his heel to rejoin the fight, he left her and she did as she was bidden, needing a chance to catch her breath. All she could hear from the other side of the stone was shouting and the thud of metal on metal, along with the snapping and breaking sound of the forest being disturbed by the fighting. The longer it went on the more anxious she grew, in spite of the fact that it meant Robin's men were holding out well.

Finally unable to stand this waiting any longer, her heart hammering in her ears, she ventured a peek around the side of the boulder. By now it stood that so many had been hurt or killed that there was now only one on one fighting. She counted all of Robin's men, at least, still standing and fighting individual soldiers. Turning her head to her left, she saw a sight that struck fear into her; Matthew, unarmed, was fighting Cousin Robert who was holding a dagger. Every protective instinct in her immediately made John's warnings fly straight from her mind.

Hurrying across the clearing, she crept as quietly as she could behind Cousin Robert. Taking the crown from her head, she drew her arm back and brought the metal swiftly down across the back of his head with as much force as she could muster.

"That's for the poor!" she told him, as he sank to his knees, keeling over completely.

Slumped on the floor, Matthew kicked him so that he lay on his back. He had been knocked out cold. Matthew looked at her with a mixture of shock, awe and wonderment.

"I promise you, that's as close as he's ever going to get to the crown," she told him when he didn't say anything, wishing he didn't look so stunned. She herself was trying to process the fact that she'd just knocked two grown men to the ground.

The soldiers, seeing that their leader had been defeated, were retreating hastily and the individual fights were breaking up.

"Where on earth did you learn to do that, your Majesty?" he finally asked, his voice rather hushed, "Sporting tussles round the castle in Aquitaine?"

Isobel shrugged.

"Something like that," she replied.

One by one, the men were running across to join them.

"Who knocked the Sheriff out?" Sybil asked Matthew, looking mildly impressed amid her relief.

"Not me," he replied, jerking his head towards Isobel.

Incredulous eyes swivelled towards her.

"The Queen?" Much asked, voicing everyone's disbelief.

Isobel nodded slowly.

"I thought I told you to stay down?" John demanded of her, sounding genuinely angry.

She opened her mouth, about to protest, but she was cut short by Will's voice from the other side of the clearing.

"Over here, everyone!" he called, his voice sounding strained and panicked, "Legrand's been wounded."

She did not miss the fear in Matthew's face as they unanimously turned around to run to where William's voice had come from. Legrand was lying on the ground, his tunic stained black with blood, his head resting on Will's knee. Isobel took one look at him and knew he would not last. No one lasted when some much of their blood was outside of their body.

"Legrand," Matthew fell to his knees beside his friend, clasping his hand in his. Isobel already knew what it would feel like before she saw the shock that Matthew tried to hide: it was stone cold, "Legrand, my friend."

Legrand spoke breathlessly.

"The Queen?" he asked.

"I'm here," she assured him, "I'm safe, Legrand, thanks to you."

His eyes flitting shut, she saw a final smile pass his lips at the news as his breathing stilled altogether. Oh God, she thought, a man has actually died for me. A good and kind man. She put her hand to her mouth, unable to say anything, closing her eyes tightly. She felt an arm around her shoulders, solid and substantial in weight but at the same time rather tentative. Turning her head, she saw that it was John. After a moment, she let her head rest against his shoulder, thinking vaguely of poor Cousin Edith, tears trickling down her face.

"How did it happen?" Sybil asked Will.

"At the beginning he went straight for the Sheriff," he told her, "About four archers went for him at once. And then the Sheriff took advantage and stabbed him."

"He was a hero," Matthew concluded, "He died like one."

Isobel wiped her eyes.

"We must give him a proper burial," she told him, "Before you send me off. I insist upon it."

Matthew waited for a moment, and then nodded.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	5. Chapter 5

They buried Legrand by the river at the other side of the clearing. Sybil rooted around and found some wild flowers which they tied together with a strip of cloth from Isobel's cloak- she insisted on it despite their protests- and placed at the head of the grave. They stood around the small mound of earth in a solemn silence for a few moments, the light above them beginning to slowly fade away. Isobel looked at John standing next to her. There was a good foot between them, they were not touching at all, yet oddly, absurdly, it felt almost as if he was holding her hand; their wrists fell to the same level, and she could almost feel the pull in the symmetry between them.

"It's starting to get dark," Matthew finally broke the silence, "We must be on our way. We need to see the Queen off safely."

One by one, they started to make their way, following Matthew and Will up the slight incline, through the thinning trees until the wood stopped altogether and they were on the edge of the road.

Cautiously, Sybil peered out of the trees, turning her head both ways along the road.

"I can see the convoy, Robin," she told him, "They're here."

"How far?" Matthew asked her.

"Close. Fifty yards."

"Come on, then," he told them all, "Let's go. But don't make too much noise."

As quietly as they could, they all emerged from the trees onto the road. Isobel could see the convoy up ahead: a group of horses and their riders stood resting, all clad in the same colours and coats of arms. Suddenly, Much grabbed onto Matthew's arm.

"You don't think they could be the Sheriff's men disguised as the convoy, do you?" he asked in an urgent whisper.

"Don't be silly," Isobel told him- at this point she did not want to contemplate the notion of further complications- "If they were they would have shot us by now!"

Matthew nodded his agreement.

"I think her Majesty is right," he replied, "Besides, they will have a password so we know it's really them."

They continued to approach them. By now the soldiers had seen them.

"Long live the King," one of them still on his horse called.

"And the Queen," Matthew replied as they finally drew level, "What is the password?"

"Sandwiches."

Isobel almost sniggered; she had been expecting something very impressive and Latin. Hearing the password, the group parted so that the soldiers could see her.

"The Queen is here," Matthew told them, "We will leave her in your care to convey her back to Aquitaine."

"As you will, Robin Hood," the soldier replied, "We have a horse for her."

Oh blast! Isobel thought. It was a good few years since she'd been on a horse and she had never been exactly graceful in the saddle even then. Just her luck to have defied death and captivity to make a prize fool of herself now. Mercifully, it seemed that John had seen her apprehension and he stepped forward to help.

Linking his fingers together into a step for her, he leant down so that he was level with her knee, all the while looking up at her.

"Would you allow me to be of assistance, m'Lady?" he asked her.

"Yes, I would," she told him, then, leaning closer to him so that only he could hear, "Lifesaver."

She saw him suppress a smile. Putting her foot in his hands as gently as she could, she allowed him to hoist her up, helping her into the stirrups of the horse and then into the saddle itself. Once she was settled on the horse, all the while carefully trying to maintain her balance, she allowed him to be the first to kiss her hand. As he backed away respectfully, his eyes never left her face, and it was only with a great effort that she managed to tear her gaze away from him to turn towards Matthew.

"Thank you, Robin Hood," she told him, "For everything. You are a truly good man and I am proud to know you."

"It was all in the line of duty, Ma'am," he told her, kissing her hand himself, "Both to the King and to your good self."

"Well, be that as it may, you still nearly got yourself killed for it," she reminded him, "Be more careful in future. And that goes for the lot of you," she told them all, her eyes wandering over to Sybil.

"Are we ready to go, your Majesty?" one of the soldiers asked, "We should try to make it out of Nottingham before nightfall."

"Just a moment," she told him, fishing in the pocket of her cloak, for the money she had felt clinking against her side as they ran.

"It can't be much," she told Matthew, throwing the bag of gold down to him, "But it's for the poor."

"Ma'am, this will feed Locksley Village for the winter," he told her, weighing the bag in his hand, looking up at her in awe.

"Well, it's a lot better off doing that than weighing me down," she told him, beginning to turn the horse around, and beginning to trot away, the soldiers following her, "Until we meet again, Robin!"

It struck her now as Robin and his men called their goodbyes after her that she had no idea at all where they were going. They were taking her back to Aquitaine, yes,- her mind hadn't quite processed that yet- but where before that? Isobel sighed. She would just have to trust the soldiers to get her where she needed to be. It was growing dark quite quickly down, the sun at a low angle sliced down over the dark tops of the trees in bright gold. She realised that she was dreadfully tired. The evening had a definite hazy quality as she travelled along rather wearily. She could only hope that where ever they were taking her was somewhere like home.

…**...**

Her eyes snapped open. She felt very peculiar indeed; there was a cool clammy feeling on her forehead, and her left hand seemed to be gently trapped against a soft flat surface. Where ever she was was very dim indeed; even squinted she could only make out vague shapes. She wondered if the Sheriff's men had caught them and if she was now in captivity. When she tried to speak her voice was oddly hoarse.

"W-where am I?" she asked croakily, hoping someone friendly would be there to understand and answer her.

"Isobel?" she heard a familiar voice to her left hand side.

Her vision coming into better focus, she turned her head. To her astonishment, she saw Dr. Clarkson. Not bulky bear-like Dr. Clarkson either, real Dr. Clarkson. Dr. Richard Clarkson. That was the reason she couldn't move her left arm: he was holding her hand. Squinting some more she saw that she was in her room at home, lying in bed.

"What happened?" she demanded of him. Then another thought occurred to her, "What are you doing here?" she asked, a small, incredulous smile creeping across her lips.

"Matthew sent for me," he told her, "He thought you were having a fit and I can understand why. When I got here you had a fever and you were thrashing and flailing, tossing and turning. At times it was almost as if you were fighting someone. And you were shouting in your sleep."

She felt her face colour a little.

"And what was I shouting?" she asked him.

"It was incomprehensible, mostly," he replied, "You seemed to be trying to talk to someone; a man called John? And I'm sure you said something about a bear."

Isobel felt her colour deepen considerably.

"I tried to calm you down," he continued, "That's why you've a damp flannel on your forehead. Do you want to take it off?"

"No," she replied, think of the way she was still blushing a little, "No, I think I've keep it on a little while longer. Where's Matthew now?"

"He's having a lie down," he replied, "I told him he needed to get some rest; he's been up most of the night."

"You must have been too," she pointed out, ""What time is it?"

"Nearly half past six. The sun is about to come up, I would have said."

"Oh, goodness, I'm sorry, Richard," she told him, trying to sit up a little, "I really have kept you up half the night!"

"It's alright," he told her with a smile, "It's my job."

"Still, is there anything I can do for you to make it up?"

He sat quietly for a moment, his hand still resting on her bed, frowning.

"Richard?"

"Who _is _John?" he asked suddenly.

She almost laughed out loud at the expression on his face. However, she sensed that this was not quite the moment to laugh at him. Cautiously, she took back ahold of his hand.

"No one," she assured him, "It think Matthew was right, I was quite mad for a little while."

He glanced towards their hands, linked and lying flat on her bed.

"And how do you feel now?" he asked, his voice formal but faltering a little.

She looked at their hands too, and squeezed her fingers ever so slightly around his.

"Fine," she replied, "I feel fine."

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time, I really hope you have enjoyed it. **


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